The Quill is Mightier than the Sword
by Jetainia
Summary: Cuthbert Binns decides to leave the family business.


**Written for The Houses Competition & Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **House Hufflepuff**

 **Houses**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Vowing to stop doing something**

 **Word count: 787**

 **Hogwarts**

 **Subject: Career Advice**

 **Task: 1-Write about an individual that gets injured on his/her job**

 **Beta: Dark Angel of Sorrow Returns**

 **AU in the fact that there is no information on what Binns did before teaching at Hogwarts and I've made him be in the quill business-which may or may not exist, it does in this story.**

* * *

Every Binns was involved in the quill business—whether they were making the quills, selling the quills or hunting the feathers that would turn into quills. The Binns name was famous for making the best quills, and the family was very proud of that fact. No Binns would ever consider changing careers and leaving the family business.

Cuthbert was focusing very hard on the job at hand. Quill making was a precise art, and he had not yet gotten to the point where he could do it in his sleep. His hands were littered with scars from all the times the knife had slipped. He was currently scraping off the membrane of several quills which he then would place in water to soak overnight. As he did that, he would remove the feathers that had been in the water before and move them to the hot sand where they would stay until they were ready to be cut. The ready feathers, he would remove and begin the process of cutting.

Everything would be easier if there was a spell for such things but unfortunately, the Binns name was built on their handcrafted quills and they would not stoop so low as to allow spell work to create something they prided themselves on being able to make without the help of magic. Cuthbert placed the last feather down on the tray that would carry it and its companions into the water and sat back with a sigh.

Quill making had been fun when he was a child and fascinating to see how a feather could become a writing implement but after doing for a few years, he started to tire of the routine and longed to escape. He had been in the family business since he was young, training and learning all about the quill business. Of course, he was always more interested in those who _used_ the quills instead of those who _made_ them.

Groaning, Cuthbert started the shuffling process that would bring him around to cutting the feathers into usable quills. This was the part that he hated the most and the part that caused him the most pain. Even though he had been cutting quills since he was little, he still hadn't gotten the hang off cutting the quill and removing the quick without cutting himself as well.

Still, he had a job to do and he would do it. Placing the new tray full of quills that had soaked and hardened in the hot sand at workstation, Cuthbert stretched and then picked up his knife. He would do it this time, he would get through all of the quills in front of him without slipping.

Cuthbert cursed as the blade slipped and cut into his finger instead of the quill it was supposed to be cutting. Blood spurted out and was quickly swiped away by the self-cleaning cloth Cuthbert kept on hand for situations such as this. He kept pressure on the wound for a few minutes and then checked the blood flow. It had stopped, and Cuthbert put aside the cloth and went back to work.

Making quills was all well and good, but it certainly wasn't fun when he got injured with every second quill he made. Cuthbert cursed again as the blade slipped once more—straight into his already wounded finger. Sighing, he put the quill and knife down and picked up the cloth. His life was not interesting in the least—he had absorbed all the tales of quills and their users; Rowena Ravenclaw, Merlin, Nicholas Flamel, Adalbert Waffling, Artemisia Lufkin and even Beedle the Bard!

The history of those people, that those quills had been involved in, _that_ was what interested him. He didn't care about making quills, he just wanted to know how they had been used, he wanted to know the history of each quill. He didn't particularly like new quills, they had no history to them, no story to tell. Perhaps that's what he would do, he would stop making quills and instead teach others about those who used quills. It was still sort of in the family business, so he wasn't betraying the Binns name.

Cuthbert nodded once and vowed to himself that he would stop creating quills and instead would tell their stories. No longer would his hands gather more and more small cuts from the knife slipping. Just as soon as he had finished the latest batch of quills and told his father that he was leaving… The knife he had picked up again dug into his finger and he hissed, the sooner he got away from sharp objects that preferred him over what they were actually meant to be cutting, the better.


End file.
